


Westley Sands

by Masterweaver



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22042828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterweaver/pseuds/Masterweaver
Summary: A supposedly normal girl is going to a supposedly acclaimed school for a supposedly normal education to become a supposedly talented huntress.Also, supposedly, Weiss Schnee has been dead for seven years.Of course, if things were as people supposed, the world wouldn't be nearly as bad as it was...
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	Westley Sands

Beacon.

A source of hope, inspiration, and light to the world.

Westley scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Westley said quickly.

The red-haired girl in armor quirked an eyebrow at her, but returned to staring out the window after a moment.

Westley adjusted her hat, glaring back out the window. Sure, Beacon Academy kept people safe from the Grimm. But that was the trick, wasn't it? The Grimm were the most dangerous thing on the planet, so everyone was always thinking about them, but _dangerous_ didn't mean _threatening._ A Beowolf outside the walls was less of a problem than an angry drunk wandering up to you in the evening. Beacon claimed to be a font of heroes, but really it was a way to snatch up powerful fighters with naive hearts and funnel them against the tide of shadow, leaving the city of Vale that much less able to handle its internal problems.

So basically the same as any of the academies, really.

Which of course begged the question of why she'd agreed to come. Sure, she could just graduate and go back to Roman, even a year's worth of education would be worth the investment, but she'd be forced to rub shoulders with idiots from across the globe. Arrogant Atlesians, manipulative Mistralians, vexing Vacuons, vapid Valeish, and whatever hopeful hotheads and scary sob stories came out of the villages between them. And of course, because of all the equal rights laws, she wouldn't have to just bamboozle ordinary morons, nooooo, now she had to sneak around the animals too.

Westley kept her scowl down to a faint grimace as the airship approached the docks. Despite the rapidly approaching hellhole that would be her peers looming ever closer, she had to admit that Roman's plan to send her off to Beacon was a good one. Two people with unlocked aura, one with a versatile semblance, were already quite the force in the Vale underground. Throw in a third, one who could pose as a legit Huntress, who could tap a network of 'friends' whose so-called morals would otherwise have them turn away... yeah, Westley could see how this could help them all. That didn't mean she had to like it, though.

A faint buzz caught her attention and she turned to see a hologram of, oh, yeah, the Academy Mistress. An old blonde hottie, who would probably have been a lot more fun if she weren't as uptight as an Atlas Knight. The message was a prerecorded one about the students being a 'privileged few' who would all get lessons about how to perform extreme pest control. Sure, she said it differently, but Westley knew that was what it all boiled down to, keeping problems out of other people's homes so they didn't have to deal with it.

And they called huntresses _heroes!_

"Professor Goodwitch seems... formal," the red-head said.

"It's a pre-recorded message, of course she seems formal."

"Fair point." The girl looked out the window again. "I know how that is."

Westley pinched her brow. "Look, I get you're just trying to make friends and all that crap, but..." She paused for a moment.

"But...?"

Crud. Alienating herself this early would be a bad move. Which meant she would have to talk to this armor chick.

"...but I haven't had any coffee today," Westley finished lamely. "So yeah, I'm probably not the best person to talk to right now. Maybe later, when I'm actually able to work through this damn headache..."

"I could escort you to the clinic, "

"No," Westley said quickly. "I'll be fine later. And you don't want to be late for Ozpin's big speech thing, right?"

"Being late because I was helping a fellow student--"

"Oh for--look, kid, what's your name?"

"Pyrrha Nikos."

Westley turned away from the window to quirk an eyebrow. "Pyrrha Nikos? Really?"

The girl put on a polite smile, the kind that hid any real emotions. "Yes."

"Four-time Mistral champion?"

"Yes, that's me."

"And you're _here,"_ Westley stressed. "At Beacon."

"I... felt the need for a change of pace."

Westley nodded slowly. "...Change of pace. Right."

More likely she was trying to get out of the claws of whatever Mistral crime family had ensured her success in the first place....

"...you know, if you're looking for a _change of pace,_ I might know some people who could help," she offered. "They would know how to keep prying eyes off of you."

"I..." Pyrrha blinked, considering Westley for a moment. "...I want to see how these first few weeks go, but I might very well take you up on that offer."

Westley nodded to herself, looking out the window again. "So... what are your thoughts on the old codger?"

"Who?"

"Ozpin."

Pyrrha crossed her arms. "He's a respected huntsman, "

"Every headmaster is. Why are none of them huntresses, you think?"

"I... hmm." Pyrrha considered for a moment. "...Coincidence, maybe?"

"Maybe," said Westley as they landed.

"As for Ozpin... well, I'll admit to only knowing him by reputation, but he seems like he'd be a competent and adaptable teacher."

"He's not a teacher," Westley pointed out flatly. "He's an administrator. Totally different things."

Pyrrha shrugged. "Perhaps you're right. Well, it was nice meeting you, miss..."

"Sands. Westley Sands."

"Ah. From Vacuo, right?"

Westley smirked slyly. "I get that a lot." She walked off the ship, adjusting her hat and fluffing her duster. "I'm going to wander a bit, don't wait up."

"But we're supposed to--"

"Gather in the main hall, yeah, I'm just going to pick up any stragglers."

Well, that and get away from the crowd. There was an air of 'eagerness' that she just couldn't stand, the blind enthusiasm of... well, of would-be heroes doing would-be hero things. How people could believe the world was 'nice', she'd never know. Oh, she'd concede there were nice people, sure, maybe even the legendary so-called 'good' people, but the world as a whole was an apathetic rock crawling with demons of shadow and bone, where humanity only banded together for as long as it needed to survive and most people were just looking out for whatever they wanted.

At least most people weren't aggressively exploitive. Those that were...

Westley shook her head as she meandered. Better not to focus on that. The past was dead. It was better to focus on what was happening now.

Which was apparently a brat in a red cloak falling at her feet.

She nudged the girl with her foot, glancing around. "Hey. Hey kid."

The girl groaned, pushing herself up. "Uh... hello."

"Oh, you're _not_ dead." Westley put a hand on her hip. "You look a little young to be here, kiddo."

"Oh, well, Ozpin let me get in early," the girl explained.

"What, did you bribe him?"

She gave her an offended look. "What? No!"

"Easy, kiddo," Westley held up her hands, "I'm just kinda curious how you got here."

"Oh, that... well, uh, I was in From Dust Till Dawn, it's a Dust shop, you see--"

"Yeah-huh."

"--and then these thugs held up the cashier! So I decided to fight them."

Westley crossed her arms. "Really."

"Yeah!" The girl nodded, chopping her hands through some really bad martial arts motions. "It was all woosh-swoosh-hicha! Then their boss got mad and shot at me with his cane-rifle."

"Cane-rifle?" Westley tilted her head. "Wait, this guy, who was he?"

"Well, professor Goodwitch said his name was Roman Torchwick," the girl explained. "He tried to escape, I followed him onto a nearby roof, and he hopped into a bullhead and--"

"Wait wait wait, no, hold on." Westley held up a finger. "You. Fifteen-year-old girl. Get into a fight with Roman Torchwick, the legendary thief that even Junior has to respect, and not only do you beat up his goons, you do it so awesomely that Oz friggin' pin decides to let you into the academy."

"Yeah, that's what happened."

"I call bullshit."

The girl flinched. "What? But--"

"You want to know what I think?" Westley continued. "I think you're rich. You're rich enough to design that weapon you think I can't see under your cloak. And you're so rich, and so arrogant, that you bribe somebody to fake all your records and get into Beacon because, hey, everybody loves a hero right? And that load of crap you just tried to sell me--"

"It's all real!"

"Really." She stared at the girl challengingly. "Look me in the eyes, kiddo. Look me in the eyes and say that."

Silver eyes locked onto hers. "I did fight Roman Torchwick and his goons. I beat the thugs, but I wasn't able to catch him before he got away."

Westley stared at her face, looking for any trace of uncertainty.

"...You're sticking with that story?"

"Yes."

"You know something, kid? You are one hell of a liar." Westley smirked. "I like your guff."

"But, "

"Hey, if you need help pulling the wool over anybody else's eyes, give me a call. Westley Sands."

"But it's all real!" the girl protested.

"And I'm the long lost Schnee heiress!" Westley shouted over her shoulder with a grin. "Seriously, though, good job tricking your way in! Hope you don't die!"


End file.
